


Worth A Few Thousand Words

by hapakitsune



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Photographs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 04:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5854612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapakitsune/pseuds/hapakitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day they leave uni, Harry shoves a shoebox full of photographs into Louis's hands and says, "These are for the wedding."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth A Few Thousand Words

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post](http://theboycanthelpit.tumblr.com/post/133721320677/temptmetobelieve-grayromanticharry-my-screen) which for some reason was not on my own blog and I had to hunt through harriet_vane's to find it. A bit of fun to shake myself out of the sad nonsense I've been working on, and now I've actually finished it. HURRAY!

It’s half eleven, three hours into their last party of uni, and Harry has shooed everyone away from the ping pong table to take photos. Louis is about ready to strangle him. 

“We never should have let Harry take that photography class,” Louis says darkly as Harry crouches over the table, clicking away madly. “We’re never going to play at this rate.”

“I don’t know that we could have,” Liam says. He’s holding what is probably a sickeningly sweet mixed drink in his hand, whipped up for him by Jade, which means it will probably also be poisonously alcoholic. His mouth is red from the fruit punch. “Harry’s pretty stubborn when he puts his mind to it.”

Harry is talking to Niall now, gesturing for him to go around to the other end of the table, and he starts snapping pictures of Niall tossing ping pong balls at him. “All right, that’s enough,” Louis decides, and he marches over to seize Harry around the waist and drag him away from the table. Harry squawks indignantly and flails with his long stork limbs, nearly taking Louis’s eye out in the process. 

“It’s important to document these life moments!” Harry says. “How else will we preserve these memories?”

“We aren’t making any memories, mate, you’re too busy taking pictures,” Louis says, and he unceremoniously dumps Harry onto the couch beside Perrie. 

Liam is laughing openly when Louis re-joins him, and he slings an arm around Louis’s shoulders, squeezing his neck. “Brilliant,” he says. “Now let’s take on Niall and Josh, yeah? We’ll destroy them.”

When Louis chances a glance back at Harry, he’s got his camera raised to his face again. Louis shakes his head. One of these days, Harry will actually participate in things again instead of just “documenting.” Until then, Louis has a ping pong reputation to maintain. He pinches Liam’s side, grins up at him, and picks up a ball as Niall and Josh square off. 

“You don’t stand a chance,” he tells them, and he stands back to serve the first ball. 

 

Louis wakes up with a magnificent headache and a terrible case of dry mouth. Someone is loudly snoring from the direction of his floor, and when he rolls over to look, he sees Liam passed out on a nest of pillows and blankets. Louis clears his throat, winces at how raw his throat feels—how much had he yelled last night?—and hisses, “Liam.”

Liam doesn’t stir, so Louis says his name again, louder this time. Liam grunts quietly and presses his face further into a pillow. Louis picks up a pen from his bedside and chucks it at Liam’s head. Liam wakes with a startled yelp, jerking upright and looking around in confusion. “Bloody hell,” he says, spotting Louis. “What happened to a gentle wake-up?”

“You weren’t rousing to the sound of my beautiful voice,” Louis croaks. “I need tea.”

“You can get it yourself,” Liam says grumpily, but he’s already getting to his feet. Louis really has trained him well. “How much did we drink last night?”

“Enough to kill lesser souls,” Louis says, and he drags his duvet back over his head as Liam leaves the bedroom to go into the kitchen. A moment later, someone sits on his legs. 

“Liam,” Louis starts, only then the duvet is yanked out of his hands and he’s greeted to the sight of Harry’s beaming face. He looks disgustingly well, not hungover at all, and Louis would quite cheerfully beat him over the head if he could make himself sit up.

“Morning,” Harry says, grinning like he’s deranged. “Sleep well?”

“Um,” Louis says. He squirms, trying to get away, but Harry is rather heavy these days. All that muscle mass and that. “Yes, I suppose. What do you want?”

“Today is the last day in halls,” Harry says. “Tomorrow we’re off, to never see each other again—”

“We’re sharing a flat in London, Haz, you were there when we signed the lease,” Louis says.

“—and I’ve decided to bestow a gift upon you,” Harry says, completely ignoring him. He leans down and picks up a shoebox that he drops unceremoniously onto Louis’s stomach. Louis has to resist the urge to retch. 

“Thanks, love, but I can do without your hand-me-down shoes,” Louis says. “Your clown feet are a bit bigger than mine.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “They aren’t shoes. They’re pictures, you idiot.”

“I don’t need to see your hundred and one artsy photos of beer bottles,” Louis says. 

“No, these aren’t—shut up,” Harry says, frowning at him. “These are for the wedding.”

“What? What on earth are you on about,” Louis says, pushing himself upright. “What wedding?”

“Take a look through, you’ll figure it out,” Harry says. He leans over, pecks Louis on the cheek, and hops off the bed. “I’m off. I’ve got to finish packing. So’ve you, mind, have you packed anything at all?”

“I have!” Louis says. He’s put his socks in a suitcase, that counts, doesn’t it? “See you later.”

Harry blows him a kiss and ducks out the door. Louis, now that he’s sitting partially up, decides he may as well finish the job and actually get up. He drags his duvet around his shoulders and shuffles into the tiny kitchen where Liam is brewing two cups of tea. He sets the shoebox from Harry on the table and opens it up to find what has to be a couple hundred photos. The first one he recognizes immediately; it’s from just after Harry had signed up for the photography class and he had been going around everywhere shoving his camera into people’s faces. Louis is scowling at the camera, his arm around Liam’s shoulder as Liam smiles shyly. They look—very young. 

“What’s that?” Liam asks, coming to peer over his shoulder. “Oh, look at that.” 

“It’s from Harry,” Louis says. Liam sets down a mug in front of him and he mutters his thanks as he flicks through the photos absently. Harry’s organized them chronologically, because of course he has. Louis will have to sit down and properly go through them. But later, because for now he has Liam to tease about the night before and tea to drink and, apparently, Niall to rouse, as he is sleeping on the couch with his mouth slack and open. Louis’s really going to miss uni. 

 

Their goodbyes, when they eventually have them, are heartfelt and genuine, but not as bittersweet as they might have been when they all know they’ll be back together in a few months’ time. They do all have a moment where they look to where Zayn would normally be, sprawled out on the sofa with a sketchbook on his stomach, before remembering that he isn’t there anymore. Harry laughs, though, and breaks the tension by kissing them all on the mouth. Louis makes a big show of wiping his mouth off. 

It’s a long way back home, and when he finally arrives in his front hall, he is immediately smacked square in the middle by two tiny hurricanes of energy. He drops his bags to the ground and rests his hands on the twins’ heads, beaming. “Hey,” he says. “Miss me?”

“No,” Daisy says into his stomach. 

“Definitely not,” agrees Phoebe. 

“Yeah, I didn’t miss you at all,” he says, tugging at their ponytails playfully. “It’s much nicer without you.”

“Liar!” Phoebe stamps on his toes and runs off for the stairs, shrieking, “Mum! Louis’s home!”

By the time Louis’s finally gotten through saying hello to his mum, Lottie, Fizzy, his mum’s fiancé, his mum’s pregnant belly, and the two friends of Lottie that are over for the afternoon, he’s about ready to collapse in bed. His mum takes pity on him and shoos everyone away before reaching back in for another hug. 

“Hiya, love,” she says warmly. “We’re so glad to have you home, even if it’s only for a short while.”

“I’m glad to be home,” Louis says, and he’s startled to feel his eyes prickling. He buries his face in his mum’s shoulder so she doesn’t see. 

He spends the next hour in his room pretending to unpack but really just taking out random items and contemplating them nostalgically. He’s got one of Harry’s old bandanas from second year when he wore them tied around his head all the time, and an old psychology book of Niall’s that must have fallen in by mistake. And endless bits of Liam scattered amid the shirts and pants and jeans: ticket stubs and sticky notes with his untidy scrawl, the smell of his deodorant on Louis’s clothes. That’s Liam, all right, managing to make himself inescapable. In a nice way, though. 

Louis digs out the box from Harry last and sits cross-legged on the floor to rifle through it. He and Liam really had terrible hair when they had first started at uni, he reflects when he finds a photo of them sprawled on Zayn’s bed, Zayn himself curled up into the corner and texting on his phone. Liam is laughing at something Louis had said, head tilted back, hand on his chest. Louis looks smug as anything. 

“Damn straight,” he tell his past self. “You _are_ hilarious.”

His mum calls him down for tea when he’s reached Christmas of that year, looking at the photos from their party where Niall is red-faced and laughing with Zayn, Liam and Louis off in the background huddled around tree. Louis had gotten Liam a Batman clock for his room, one that sang the old theme song, and Liam had gotten him a really lovely jumper, soft and very warm. Louis still has it; it’s a bit long in the arm, but he likes his sleeves to cover his hands. 

He’s wearing the jumper in the next few pictures, looking increasingly grumpy as the weather had gotten fouler. There’s a few underexposed photographs from the night the electricity had gone out in the halls and they had huddled around with iPhones and torches to try to light themselves up. All five of them had slept in Liam and Zayn’s room, having dragged their mattresses off the beds to make a giant pillow beast in the middle of the floor. It had been very warm and cosy, even if Harry did flop around like a fish in his sleep. Liam had curled up around Louis, hands just touching his back, and whispered, “This is fun, isn’t it?” 

Louis had said something sarcastic at the time, but yeah. It had been fun. 

Louis brings the box of photos down to tea with him and sets them aside as he helps his mum set the table and corral the family in around the table. As usual the whole affair is utter chaos, people talking loudly over each other and arguing, but it’s all so cheerful and familiar that Louis is feeling a little misty just watching them. He’s quieter than usual, which he thinks will go unnoticed until Lottie kicks him dead in the knee and demands what’s wrong with him. 

“I think you’re doing enough talking for me, aren’t you,” Louis says, rubbing his leg and sticking his tongue out at her. Their mum sighs in exasperation. 

After tea they wind up sprawled across the sofas and chairs to watch telly. Louis has Harry’s box in his lap as the girls argue over what programme they want to watch. His mum notices, of course, sharp-eyed as she is, and asks, “What’s that you’ve got?”

“Pictures from Harry,” he says, holding up one where he’s pulling a face at the camera, Liam cracking up beside him. “Gave them to me before we left.”

“That’s sweet of him,” his mum says. “Can I take a look through with you?”

“Ooh, embarrassing photos of Louis?” Lottie asks, twisting round. “That’s much better than _Geordie Shore_.”

“Oh, piss off,” Louis says mildly. His mum whacks him upside the head anyway. 

So Louis flicks through the pictures, passing them around his curious family and explaining some of the stranger ones, like the one of him and Liam perched in a tree. They’d been drunk (he leaves that part out) and gotten into an argument about treehouses with Harry, who didn’t believe they could climb one, so they’d clambered up the next likely looking tree they found. Liam had nearly fallen, and Louis had caught him by the waist to keep him on their branch, but of course Liam was bigger than Louis and had nearly dragged them both down. 

“Idiot,” Louis says fondly. “Could’ve killed us both.”

“It’s a miracle you made it through uni unscathed,” his mum says in a light tone, but when he glances at her she looks shaken. He puts an arm around her shoulders and tugs her in, kissing her temple. 

“I’m much less stupid than I was three years ago,” he assures her. 

“That’s not saying much,” Lottie says. Louis manfully does not kick her in the shoulder. 

“What’s this from?” Fizzy asks, holding up a photo of Liam and Louis dressed in suits, with two girls that lived in their hall their first year. Liam and Louis are beaming at each other, their dates smiling at the camera. Most of what Liam remembers from that night was getting drunk and sneaking outside with Liam to have a cheeky cigarette and look at the stars. It had been a really clear night.

“There was some kind of dance,” Louis says, smiling fondly. “They asked us, so we went. We look dead nice, don’t we? Proper James Bond look.”

“Liam really is a handsome boy,” his mum says, which is horrifying for so many reasons. Not that she’s wrong of course, but his mum should not be commenting on the attractiveness of his friends. “But goodness, Louis, look at the state of your shirt. Did you even press it?”

“ _Mum_ ,” Louis whines as his sisters start giggling. “I didn’t have an iron, all right?” 

“All right, all right,” his mum says, patting his knee. “What else you’ve got in there?”

There are dozens of photos from the trip the five of them had made to the shore, Liam and Louis running out into the water, Zayn remaining steadfastly on land, and Niall chatting with a beach comber they’d met. The beach comber’s metal detector had turned up a battered silver locket, and she’d given it to Niall, which had led to the rest of them teasing him well into the night. There seems to be several whole rolls of film devoted to the camping trip they’d made the summer after their second year, before Zayn had left, photos of Louis sitting back while the rest of them did the work, of them seated around the fire as Niall played guitar. 

There’s one photo in particular that Louis likes, where Liam is in the foreground, slightly blurry, with his mouth open. Louis knows, from context, that Liam is singing. In the background, Louis is watching him, a soft smile on his face. He looks happy and proud. It takes a little coaxing sometimes for Liam to sing, like he thinks they would make fun of him, which is ridiculous because Liam is one of the best singers Louis knows. 

“Wasn’t this the time you almost set yourself on fire?” Lottie asks loudly, which is how Louis decides it’s time to gather up the photos and take them upstairs, away from his nosy family. 

The rest of the photos are mostly from around uni, at parties or in halls. It takes Louis a while to realize nearly all of them are of Louis and Liam, even if the other boys are around in the photos. Kind of weird, but then it’s Harry. 

He’s flicking through the last of the photos, through the pictures from the fall and their Christmas party, when he finds one that makes him pause. There are a few photos of Liam in his ridiculous reindeer hat and knitted penguin sweater, and he looks absolutely ridiculous and a little tipsy. Louis is so dreadfully fond of him, really. 

But there’s a picture of Louis, Liam blurry in the foreground, and Louis is gazing at Liam with this look in his eyes. Louis has never seen that look on his own face; he looks—he looks—

 _These are for the wedding,_ Harry had said. 

Louis sits down abruptly on the edge of his bed. He stares at his own face, at the soft, fond smile, and the way he’s staring at Liam, and feels a little sick. He likes Liam, of course. Liam’s his best mate. He’s fond of him. He thinks Liam is brilliant and silly and fit, obviously, he isn’t blind. He isn’t in _love_ with him. Definitely not. 

He flicks through the rest of the photos, hoping to see something to refute this, but the last dozen or so photos are all the same: Louis gazing at Liam like he’s everything in the world. God, had his face always done that? How had he not known his face could do that?

Louis sets the photos aside and puts his head between his knees. He feels a bit like he’s going to be sick, and he debates whether he should run to the toilet before the worst of it passes. If Liam were here—he quickly shuts down that train of thought. He isn’t in love with Liam, his face just does a thing. A thing he’s going to learn to cut down on.

When he picks up his phone from the charger, he sees he has around a dozen missed messages from the boys, all checking in to be sure he got in all right. The last one from Liam says, _Miss u!!! hope u got home safe u fucker!!!_ and then a series of blushing emojis. Louis’s stomach stirs hotly, and his hands tremble on the phone for a moment before he sends, _safe and sound boys !! see you in london !_ He shoves the phone away from him and curls up on his bed, trying very hard not to think about Liam. 

 

By the time he wakes up the next morning, very tired from restless sleep and eyes gritty, he has made a list of things that mean he isn’t in love with Liam:

1\. At least one of those photos was taken right before he got off with Liza from literature studies, so obviously he wasn’t pining for Liam then. 

2\. Louis definitely would have insisted Liam live with him instead of Harry and him moving into Gemma’s old flat. Keep him close and all that. 

That’s all he’s got, which he admits is fairly weak, especially since he’d also come up with a list of things he loves about Liam, and that list is so long that it’s hard to keep it straight in his head. It includes, in no particular order: his smile, his arms, his voice, the way his accent comes out stronger when he’s excited, his strong arms and how he can lift anything for Louis, his adorable ignorance at times, his utter earnestness about being a teacher, and his inability to spell. 

Louis may have a slight problem. 

_Glad to hear it mate!! x_ Liam has texted back. Louis scowls at his phone. “Whose side are you on?” he asks it, and then he pulls up Harry’s number to Facetime him. Harry’s bound to be awake, he’s taken to getting up disgustingly early to go on jogs. 

When Harry answers, he’s yawning with his hair all over his face, but he says, “Louis Tomlinson!” very grandly. “It’s only half nine, I’m surprised you’re awake.”

“I didn’t sleep well,” Louis says. “Harry, why’d you give me that box of pictures?”

“Have you really not figured it out?” Harry asks through another yawn. “Bollocks, that means I owe Niall a fiver.”

“You bet on—never mind.” Louis squints threateningly through the phone camera at Harry. “I think it’s because you think I’m in love with him. Why did no one ever tell me I was in love with him?”

“We honestly thought you knew,” Harry says without batting an eye. “I thought you were saving your grand gesture until the end of school, but then you didn’t do anything, and Niall reckoned you hadn’t figured it out, which I thought seemed impossible since even you can’t be that oblivious to your emotions, but I thought the pictures—”

“The point, Harry,” Louis says. 

“Right.” Harry takes a deep breath. “I figured you just needed someone to show you what you already knew.” 

“But I’m not in love with him,” Louis says. “I can’t be. I would have known.”

“Clearly you don’t,” Harry says, frowning at him. “Louis, come on. Don’t be thick.”

“I’m not in love with Liam!” Louis half-shouts

“Well if you’re just going to be childish,” Harry says, and with that he hangs up. Louis groans and flops backwards on his bed. 

He doesn’t want to, but he can’t help pulling out the box of photos again, this time flicking through them and spreading a select few out around him on the bed. He catches himself smiling idiotically at Liam’s face in a photo from Halloween, scowls, and turns the picture over. It doesn’t help. 

When Liam and Louis had first met, they hadn’t gotten on. Louis was so excited to be at uni and in halls that he was, well, even more of a little shit than he usually is. Liam had been so by the book that it drove Louis mad, and when Liam had nearly reported Louis and Zayn for smoking up, Loui had wanted to strangle him. Only then one day Louis had come back to the hall and found Liam trying very hard not to cry because his pet turtle had died. Louis had curled up next to him on the sofa and made him laugh. After that, they were friends. 

Louis isn’t sure when Liam went from being just a mate to being Louis’s _best_ mate. Liam thought Louis was hilarious and smart, and Louis never could get enough of Liam’s smiles. And when Liam played along with Louis’s schemes, there was no one more fun. Liam was so genuinely _good_ but also devious when the time called for it, and endlessly delighted by life. Louis could spend endless amounts of time with him, really. 

Louis stares down at the photo of him and Liam from last New Year’s Eve, arms around each other’s shoulders and grinning at each other. The picture is overexposed, and they’re both obviously completely pissed, but there’s that same look in Louis’s eyes: that overwhelming fondness. Louis smile as he looks at Liam’s flushed cheeks, remembering how Liam had sicked up later and moaned about how he never should have started drinking. Louis had gotten him water, cleaned him up, and coaxed him into bed before falling asleep beside him. 

Which isn’t really something he does, even for his friends, he realizes. He’s definitely left Harry to clean himself up in the past, but Liam needs him. Liam deserves that. 

Shit. He really is in love with Liam. 

 

Louis deals with this revelation the same way he deals with everything that’s mildly difficult: he ignores it. Which involves ignoring Liam as well as Harry and Niall, but he’s home with his sisters, surely they’ll understand that. He has to ferry them to and from school, help with their homework, make dinner, all the stuff that he used to do before he went off to uni. He had forgotten how exhausted he is at the end of the day when he’s running after the girls, and every night he collapses into bed too tired to do much more than maybe wank and then go to sleep. 

_Are you all right?_ Harry texts him after a few days. _I didn’t mean to make you angry._

_I’m not_ , Louis replies, and he resolutely ignores the stream of texts from Harry, Niall, and Liam over the next week. He, rather naively, believes he’ll be able to get away with it. After all, Harry sometimes goes _weeks_ without texting. Once it was a whole month. Niall didn’t even have Liam’s phone number for most of the last term. 

He really should have known better, because on Sunday, Liam shows up at his _house_. Louis is curled up in his duvet like a little blanket burrito when Fizzy comes bouncing into his room, far too peppy for the early hour. 

“Louis, your cute friend is here,” she hisses. She flings herself onto his feet and squeezes Louis’s calf. “ _Louis._ ”

“What, Harry?” Louis asks without opening his eyes. 

“ _No_ ,” Fizzy says. “It’s _Liam_.”

Louis sits bolt upright and accidentally knocks his sister off the bed. She shrieks and flails her way to her feet. “What?” Louis demands, ignoring her. “Liam’s here?”

“That’s what I _said_ ,” Fizzy says indignantly. Louis leaps out of bed, dashes around his room looking for something clean to wear, realizes what he’s doing, and draws up short. Liam has seen him in far worse than a ragged t-shirt and trackies. He doesn’t need to _impress_ him. 

Except that he desperately, _desperately_ wants to. 

“Well?” Fizzy says. 

Louis is fine. He grabs a muscle tank from his closet, switches it out, and combs his hands through his hair, trying to fluff it up. After a moment, he gives up, and runs out of his room. He slows down when he reaches the stairs and walks with as much dignity as he can down to the front hall. 

Liam is standing by the door, talking very earnestly with the twins and looking disgustingly handsome. Louis sort of wants to punch him and then kiss him until he can’t breathe. Liam doesn’t notice him right away, so Louis loiters like a weirdo, staring at Liam and Liam’s arms. Had he really never noticed Liam’s arms before? They’re so—so _gorgeous._

Liam looks up and spots Louis. He breaks into a wide, beaming smile, which Louis can’t help but answer. “Tommo!” he says cheerfully. “Where have you been, mate? Thought you had disappeared off the planet.”

“Hi, Payno,” Louis says, more breathily than he intends. “Sorry. Been a bit hectic round here.”

Liam has the best smile in the entire world, Louis thinks, a little dazedly, as Liam’s smile somehow gets wider. “Don’t do that again, all right? Scared me, you did.” He gently steers his way around the twins and pulls Louis into a tight hug. Louis tucks his head into it, breathing in the familiar smell of Liam’s sweat and deodorant. 

The hug seems to go on for a very long time, and yet no long enough. When Liam pulls away, Louis lets go reluctantly and sees that his sisters have wandered off. For the best, probably. Louis takes Liam by the hand, ignoring Liam’s startled look, and tows him out of the house and far away from prying eyes and ears. He loves his family, he really does, but they’re dead nosy. 

“Where are we going?” Liam asks amiably as Louis leads him away and towards the city centre. “I thought we could hang out, talk. It’s always funny when we haven’t seen each other in a while, isn’t it? We saw each other every day while we were at uni.”

Liam rambles on in this vein for a while until Louis finds the coffee shop he’s thinking about and leads him inside. Liam shuts up long enough for Louis to order an iced coffee for himself and frothy iced latte monstrosity for Liam, and starts chattering again once they’ve sat down. Louis drinks it in, watching Liam’s face until Liam realizes Louis hasn’t said one word and trails off with a concerned frown. 

“You all right, Lou?” he asks, reaching out to put his freezing cold hand against Louis’s forehead. Louis flinches away. “Oh, sorry.”

“Your hand is bloody freezing, idiot,” Louis says. “I’m fine. Sorry I didn’t text.”

“You’ve said already.” Liam stirs at his drink with his straw. “I was meant to be angry with you. I told Niall and Harry, I told them, if Louis doesn’t bloody text us back by the weekend I’ll drive up to bloody Doncaster and give him a piece of my mind.”

“You’re doing a bang up job of it,” Louis says, deadpan. “So? Let me have it.”

But Liam shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says ruefully. “I got in and saw you, and honestly, Tommo, I can’t be mad at you. Not really. Although, if you do that again, I’ll—I’ll—”

“Glare at me?” Louis suggests. “Pout, a bit? Get Niall to call and tell me how disappointed he is?”

“Ooh, that’s a good one.” Liam sucks his straw into his mouth. Louis tries very hard not to stare. When Liam pulls back, there’s a smear of milk on his lower lip. It should be disgusting and yet very much is not. “So what’s the real reason you didn’t text? Harry said you and he had a row.”

“We didn’t _row_ , we just had a bit of a disagreement,” Louis says grumpily. “You didn’t need to come up here to fix it or anything. I just needed some time.”

“Time to do what?” Liam stares at Louis with those huge brown puppy eyes. Louis wants to stab himself in the face. “Lou, is something wrong? Did something happen?”

Louis sighs and says, “I have to show you something.”

 

Back at Louis’s house, they shut themselves in Louis’s bedroom, Louis taking the extra precaution of wedging a chair beneath the doorknob so his sisters can’t sneak in. Once Liam is sitting on Louis’s bed—which, it has to be said, is not doing much for Louis’s state of mind—Louis digs out the box of photographs. 

“Oh, is that what Harry gave you?” Liam asks, taking it from him. “What is it, anyway?”

“All his pictures,” Louis says. “Go on, look.”

Liam smiles at him quizzically, but takes off the lid of the shoebox and starts flicking through them. “Oh, wow,” he says after a moment. “This is like our whole _lives_.” He holds up one of Liam and Louis sleeping curled up on the floor of Harry’s room. Liam is pressed up against Louis’s back, one over Louis’s waist. “Harry’s dead creepy, isn’t he?”

Louis’s face is on fucking fire. “Yeah,” he says. “Super creepy.” He snatches the photo out of Liam’s hand and puts it back. “I just, um. Could you look toward the back?”

Liam gives him a confused look, but moves to look at the end photos. He stops on the Christmas ones, just as Louis had, and smiles fondly. “I love that hat.”

“You love ridiculous hats,” Louis says, heart pounding. “Notice anything else?”

Liam lifts out a photo and shows it to Louis. “You’re pissed.”

“Well, yes,” Louis says. “Not that. My face.”

Liam frowns and scrutinizes the photo. “What about it? That’s just your face.”

“No, it isn’t,” Louis says. “Look at it! I don’t always look like that.”

“No, you do,” Liam says. “That’s always how you look.”

Louis knows for a _fact_ that he does not always look that fond and affectionate. “No,” Louis says stubbornly. He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling until he finds one of him and Harry. “That’s what my face looks like.”

Liam takes the phone and looks from it to the photo for a minute. Then he asks, “Were you tired or upset that day or something?”

“No,” Louis says. “I just—look happier with you.”

Liam smiles and wraps his arm around Louis’s shoulders. “That’s nice, isn’t it? Maybe I ought to be with you all the time.”

“Maybe you ought to,” Louis agrees. His heart is pounding so hard he’s surprised Liam can’t feel it. “You know the funny thing Harry said when he dropped this off?”

“What’s that?”

“He said it’s for the wedding,” Louis says quietly. “All these photos of us. You and me, mostly.”

Liam blinks slowly. “Do you think he meant _our_ wedding?”

“He did,” Louis says. “And, well, I think he might be onto something.”

Liam shifts very slightly, like he’s trying to get away, and for a moment Louis panics before he realizes Liam is trying to look him in the face. “You do?”

“I think so,” Louis says. “See, I looked through all these photos and I realized, right, that if I look at you like that it has to mean something.”

“Louis,” Liam says, looking like he’s trying not to smile. “Are you saying you _like_ me?”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Louis says crossly. “We aren’t _seven._ I fancy you, all right? That’s what I’m saying. You’re dead gorgeous and I’d quite like to snog you, and since this has got to be the most awkward moment of my entire life, I’d appreciate it if you—”

Liam lays a finger to Louis’s lips. “Shut up,” he says kindly. Louis is about to be quite annoyed with him when Liam leans in and kisses him. 

Objectively speaking, there is nothing special about the kiss. It is rather good, but Louis’s been snogged by quite a few people and some of them had been expert snoggers. There is nothing, really, that should set it apart, no reason that Louis’s hands should be shaking this hard or his heart to be going at such an insane rate, no reason apart from that it’s Liam, and really, that’s all the reason in the world. 

Because Liam kisses with _intent_ and his stubble pricks at Louis’s chin, and his hand is strong on the back of Louis’s neck, and every bit of Louis is overlaid with the thought, _It’s Liam it’s Liam it’s Liam_. 

Louis realizes he’s climbed into Liam’s lap when he pulls back for a gasping breath. Liam’s hands are halfway down Louis’s trackies already. He doesn’t mind. “Oh,” Louis says, gazing down at Liam’s stupid perfect face. 

“If you looked,” Liam says, and he’s beaming, the way he always beams at Louis, “you might have noticed I’m always smiling at you in those pictures too.”

“You smile at _everyone_ ,” Louis points out. “You’re the friendliest boy alive.”

“Not like I do at you,” Liam says. “You’re one of the first people who ever made me feel special.”

Louis feels all warm down to his toes at that, even as he mentally reminds himself to destroy everyone who was ever mean to Liam in secondary. “You ought to feel special every day,” he says firmly. “I demand it.”

Liam bumps his forehead against Louis’s. “I do,” he says. “Is this why you started ignoring us? You worked out you fancied me?”

Louis nods. “Shut up,” Louis mutters as Liam starts to laugh at him. “It was a bit of an adjustment, all right? I’ve come round to it now.”

“Good,” Liam says fondly. “Where’s your phone?”

Louis digs out his mobile and hands it over to Liam, curious. When Liam opens up the camera and raises his arm to take a selfie of them, he grins and leans in to kiss Liam’s face obnoxiously. “We ought to send those to Harry and Niall,” Louis says before biting Liam’s jaw. 

Liam, disappointingly, doesn’t yelp. Perhaps he has gotten used to Louis unexpectedly biting him over the years. Louis should have planned better. “Already ahead of you,” he says. _Better get that slideshow readddyyyyy!!!!!!!_ he laboriously types out. Louis really does love him an awful amount. 

After a few minutes, during which the phone is forgotten in favour of snogging, Louis’s phone buzzes first with a text from Niall ( _about time, mate ! congrats !_ ) and another from Harry ( _Finally xx_ ). Louis detaches himself from Liam long enough to take a picture of himself flipping them off and sends it before tackling Liam to the bed. He reckons they’ve got about half an hour before one of his sisters comes looking for him, and he plans on making every minute count.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](http://officerbobrovsky.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/hkafterdark) if you want to talk babies and 1D (together or separately)!


End file.
